


Featherbed

by quicksparrows



Series: Side by Side – Chrobin [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:43:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they hooked up, and in a real bed at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Featherbed

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last one for like, a week. I think. I hope. Maybe. We'll see. I'm on a roll, people.

.

 

 

 

It's been a long journey back to Ylissetol, and as they pass through the city gates and follow the winding market road back to the castle, Ada looks up and thinks it's the closest thing to home. It's the only place in her short memory that she has left and then returned to. If that isn't home, what is?

Chrom catches her staring up at the castle, lost in thoughts, and he teases her: "Looking forward to having your own room?"

"What?" she says, eyes landing on his mouth. He smiles and looks ahead of them as he leans back in the saddle.

"You don't have to stay in the barracks this time," he says. "I'm going to make arrangements for you to stay in one of the guest rooms, so you can experience a real bed for once."

A real bed. The cot in her tent had felt real enough, as had the straw pallet bunks and rough wool blanket in the barracks when she'd first met the Shepherds. A _real_ bed, though? She imagines that means a featherbed with nice linens. She's never even _seen_ a featherbed before. She doesn't know how she even knows the word, much less how it looks like.

"I think I'd like that," she says, finally. "Maybe I'd get some elbow room for once."

Chrom smiles at her.

"Those cots are pretty narrow," he agrees, but he doesn't say anything more.

A real featherbed, one where she can roll clear over and not bump into any goofy princes overstaying their invite.

 

* * *

 

Ada flops back onto the bed noiselessly, sinking into the thickness of the duvet and the mattress beneath. She instantly appreciates the way it cradles her, the way every ache in her body seems to vanish upon contact –– it's heavenly. And because she seems to be that kind of person, she promptly picks apart her own reaction: does this _say_ something about her? She doesn't imagine she's ever slept in a bed like this in her life, if she'd be so surprised by how incredible this bed is.

Then again, she probably never slept on a bed fit for a princess, or _any_ bed in an illustrious castle. She probably –– as far as she can guess, anyway –– grew up in a modest household, one with moderate access to education, but most likely the child of Plegian immigrants.

_Maybe._

Either way, she certainly never had a bed like this.

Chrom chuckles, suddenly, and she looks at him with a guarded smile. He'd watched her stretch out and settle in, evidently, from his place in the doorway. He hadn't really made his presence obvious.

"Nice, isn't it?" he says.

"Very," she says. The feeling of gratefulness swells in her, but it also makes her feel a modicum of guilt; tonight many of her new comrades and allies will be bedding down in the barracks with wool blankets scarcely finer than those used to blanket the horses. "Are you sure it's okay for me to stay here? I could stay in the barracks with the others, I don't want to give off the impression of favoritism––"

He raises a hand. "You won us several battles," he says, cutting her off with a smile. "I think you deserve it. I'm sure the others won't mind, and it's not like we have any dignitaries staying in here right now."

Ada sighs, sinking in a little deeper, more bonelessly. She closes her eyes.

"Mmm," she hums. "Well, thank you."

"It's the least I could do," he says.

"Right? I think you could put together every single bed I've ever slept in throughout my life and still not end up this plush."

Chrom just laughs and, to Ada's surprise, he strides over and flops down next to her. His weight makes the mattress sink even more, and like a magnet, she ends up sinking in closer to him. She doesn't mind at all, beyond the creeping thought that she has been swept into a world of princes and armies without much idea of what her place is. Is this even appropriate? It probably stopped being truly impartial when he crawled into her bed, or they kissed, but—

Chrom props himself up on one elbow and he looks at her with such mischief in his eyes.

"I'm sure _fields_ don't amount to even the cheapest straw pallet," he grins.

"Excuse me!" she says, but she laughs. "That's so rude!"

"It's true!" he laughs. He reaches and tucks her hair behind her ear, and the gesture is so sweet she feels her stomach turn. How dare he? "But you've earned it, so you enjoy this bed. Sleep well."

"I will," she says. "And you know what I'll enjoy most of all?" Chrom leans in closer, as if she could draw him in with her voice alone. She says, tone low: "I don't have to listen to you snoring clear across camp!" 

"Well, then!" Chrom says, mock offended. "I can't have you too relaxed. What if there's an attack on the castle? Just in case, I'll just have to sleep in here with you."

"You're such a brat," Ada snorts, but truth be told, him hogging her space and laying his arm on her hadn't been so unwelcome in _hindsight_. He's warm and he doesn't protest when she leans against him and feels strangely vulnerable in his pajamas. She could sleep at his side again. But now, in the moment where he is encroaching on her featherbed experience, she prods him in the shoulder hard. "I think you just want an excuse to crawl in with me!"

"Wow," he laughs, "If I'm not welcome, I have a bed of my own, and I've sorely missed it."

"Bigger and better, I assume," she teases.

"Much," Chrom nods, and he laugh when her eyebrows fly up and she gives him a silent, open-mouthed _gotcha_. He drops his eyes, chuckling, maybe a _little_ embarrassed. "Well, that made me sound like a brat, for sure."

"Oh, don't beat yourself up," she says. She dares herself to reach, to pinch his cheek. He looks at her and she looks at him and she knows things are going to get heavy very, very soon. It's inevitable. Her voice drops a little, lower: "All that stress and your pretty face will break out."

Chrom laughs for real, and then he leans over and kisses her on the mouth, quick and sweet and playful. Ada laughs as soon as his lips leave hers, lingering close even when he withdraws.

"I felt that one coming," she tells him. There's a little dreaminess in her heart, suddenly, especially when he glances aside and smiles and purses his lips just _so_ , like he's relishing it. He didn't even hesitate. It makes her _throb_.

"It felt right," Chrom says. 

"Good," she says, and then she kisses him.

There's something about his mouth that she likes — especially like this, when it's warm and hungry against hers, rather than running off. Chrom takes her face in hand, his fingers grasping and then sliding back in her hair, and she opens her mouth when his weight shifts against her. _Oh,_ she thinks, as his lips part too, and she gets a hand on the front of his tunic and he holds her so firmly that she couldn't pull away if she wanted to. There's an awkwardness as they find each others rhythms, and then there's no turning back.

Ada thinks that she is getting altogether too comfortable with getting into bed with him, but gods, she doesn't _care_ , and even if she did, he evidently doesn't. He shifts overtop her, his other hand sliding down her waist, and she doesn't think about it, for once — she takes him by the wrist and redirects it to her breast. Surprise flickers on his face, but he doesn't pull his hand away. In fact, with his hand firmly on her breast, he asks _permission:_

"Can I—" he murmurs, but then he goes for it anyway, taking one bold, firm handful as he kisses her again. Ada breathes in sharply through her nose. When he breaks off again, he says, breathless: "I've been thinking about that forever."

"Wow," Ada snorts, but she can't complain. She arches her back a little, just to feel him on her, and he gropes her again, a little bolder. As thin as her tank top is, it's hardly a skin-to-skin experience, but she's not sure that Chrom has ever even touched a breast before. _Gods._ Fortunately for them both, he just goes ahead and shoves up her top at the hem. His palm is warm, and for a moment he just fondles her, exploring. She is acutely aware of how he has one knee between hers, and his groin is firm against her thigh. 

He looks down at her exposed breasts like she's _magic_.

"Wow," he says. 

"You've seen them before," she teases, guiding his hands back up her bare skin, and he's feeling her up immediately. 

"I know, but it was dark," he says. He laughs, suddenly: "I guess you know what you're in for then, too."

"Uh huh," she murmurs. 

What on earth is she doing, tumbling in bed with a prince? She doesn't care. It feels good to connect with someone.

Chrom kisses his way down her jaw, slow, a little sloppy. He gets to her collarbone, gets that ticklish spot at the juncture of her jaw, and she giggles until a little gasp pops off her lips when Chrom finds this one spot, teases her nipple between his fingers. She's not entirely sure it was deliberate, but gods, she hopes it happens again.

"You're definitely the one seducing me," she teases him, and Chrom snorts and brushes a loose lock of her hair out of her face again, out of his way.

"Yeah, right," he says. "I keep ending up in _your_ bed."

"Oh no," she says, "you own them, so they're your beds." 

His knee between hers is distracting; she shifts under him, opening her hips to him. He settles more between her legs, and they've sunk so much into the featherbed that he ends up grinding against her, pelvis to pelvis. There's a dull metal clank as her belt buckles catch against the metal buttons of his tunic, but neither stops to undress more; she grinds up against him by instinct alone, and Chrom just bears down against her in return. The light cotton of her pants feels like nothing when he reaches down to shove her decorative belt panels aside so they're fly-to-fly, so hard that she feels every button. She feels wet, and a little empty.

He's breathing faster.

"Chrom," she says, "let's just––"

"Yeah," he says, and he lays off, sitting back on his heels. He starts unbuckling his baldric, and there's a loud thud when he finally tosses it aside and the metal pauldron hits the wooden floor. Getting the placket of his tunic open is marginally quicker, but it's such a silly thing to look up at –– Chrom's placket hangs undone, exposing the long strip of his chest from his throat to his groin. She's momentarily (and inexplicably) delighted by the trail of dark hair peeking past his fly, considering she's seen him naked before. The fact that he can take his half-hard cock out without actually taking off his clothes is funny.

"Why did you decide to wear a thing like that?" she murmurs against his lips as he pulls her back to him. 

"Shut," he says. He doesn't even finish the phrase, he's too busy kissing her.

She still has her goddamn coat on, and her boots. Her shirt is pushed up around her collarbone, caught over her breasts, but everything else feels clammy. It's a little exciting –– seeing each other naked is old hat, the weird catalyst to their comfort with each other. _Partners in crime_. His body pressed against hers is new, her ability to rake her hands up his back is new. Him sucking at her lips, kissing down her face, fondling her –– new. Exciting. 

He lays her back again, her great coat fanned out under her. She fumbles with one belt buckle and he gets the other, and he tosses it aside while she gets the buttons on her fly. Her breath hitches when she lifts her hips and he pulls her trousers down to her knees. He gives a low whistle, almost thoughtlessly, at the sight of her panties. She feels a little silly, pants tangled at the tops of her boots, but she didn't exactly plan a striptease.

If she's being realistic, he _really_ doesn't care about that.

She nudges her panties down, too. Chrom pauses at that, hovering over her and watching every exposed new inch. Ada watches his cheeks get pinker.

Chrom gulps. Hesitates.

"This is moving really fast," he says, suddenly.  "Is this...?" He trails.

"Weird?" 

"A little," he says, "but..."

He kisses her, like that's more important, and the tug of his lips on hers is hard, needy. She lifts her knees to the side, all she can really do without stopping to take her boots off, but she's gripped by the idea that all they have is momentum. This moment and this moment alone before their lives call them back –– there's a looming war and she doesn't know who she is and he's sweet and kind and he's letting her sleep in a featherbed.

She wants him. 

He gets one hand on her hip, clutching her, but he bumps against her clumsily.

"Chrom," she says. She's surprised by the voice that comes out of her –– higher. Kind of breathy. She likes it, and he must too, because this _moan_ pops off his lips. "I want you in me."

He's flustered, suddenly.

"Sorry, I'm just—" he hesitates. "Just a minute," he says. Then Chrom laughs -- his face is steadily reddening. 

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"One minute," he repeats. He fumbles for a second, and he has to shift his weight back just a bit, lean back to see what the hell he is doing. Ada watches him a moment, knees almost to her chest, as he awkwardly pumps himself. She watches the head of his cock bob under the grip of his fist, the tip glistening.

"Oh, come on," she pleads. She watches his eyes flutter closed, and then he decides to try again, and she reaches own to help. She says: "Here."

So together they guide him into her. Ada could always wonder how she _knows_ , but she does, and that initial resistance is tough, but then he glides into her to the hilt. She breathes in sharply, and he presses his full weight against her, folding her in half. Chrom is panting, and she might be too; he drops his forehead against hers and his nose bumps hers and he screws his eyes shut and pumps in and out of her, delectably slow.

" _Chrom_ ," she moans.

He just groans, picking up the pace. He pulls back so far he nearly slips out, kept in place by her guiding hand, and then he drives back in faster. Her fingers are wet, even sticky; he slips against her like its nothing. She's never felt so tight, but she bears back against him for every other thrust. He'd been watching her face most of the time, she'd noticed, but now his eyes flutter, his mouth hanging open as he openly pants. It looks glorious. There's the silent gasp on his face, the hard rope of his abdominal muscles as he thrusts, the feeling of being stuffed full –– all glorious.

And then there's the slightest twitch, a twinge beyond the throbbing of her own clit, one that runs from him to her. She feels warmed, but she's still on the edge. Chrom groans. He _throbs_ inside of her.

"Oh gods," he says. "Ada. Ada?"

The look on his face is possibly the most satisfying she's ever seen. She almost shivers, clammy in her coat, and he keeps throbbing in her a moment longer, even as he slumps a bit overtop her.

"Don't move yet," she says, taking his face between her palms and kissing him. "Chrom."

He's almost shivering.

"Gods," he repeats. "I've wanted to..."

She lifts her hips against him, just slightly, and he laughs, low and satisfied. He could pull out, but he doesn't; she's glad for it, not yet ready to lose his cock from her. Her hips are sore in such a nice way.

"We're crazy," she says. "Why'd we...?"

"Who knows," he says. He laughs again, kisses her cheek with soft lips. "But well strategized, tactician."

She laughs, too.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is nice. She sits across from Chrom at the grand dinner table in a borrowed pair of pants and a fresh shirt, utterly at peace. She hasn't felt bathed, satisfied and so social since they'd last eaten in Ferox.

"Milord, is Ada wearing your trousers?" Frederick asks, as he rounds the table.

Chrom looks up at his knight with wide eyes and a mouthful of potato.

"Well, she didn't have any clean ones," he says, practically angelic; it _is_ true, and it truthfully has _nothing_ to do with their tryst. "You can't expect a lady to wear the same trousers from Ferox to here and then go to dinner in them."

A _lady._ She snorts, leaning an elbow against the tabletop and looking at him. She sees what he did there.

"I could have sent for the tailors," Frederick fusses. He leans over Ada and plucks her untouched napkin from its ring and he unfolds it with a swift flick. Ada has no choice but to sit back and let him lay it on her lap. "If you're going to remain a staple of Lord Chrom's company then you will need etiquette lessons... and your own wardrobe. Immediately to the tailor, after dinner. I'll make up an order immediately, I shan't have you misrepresenting milord."

"Of course, thank you, Frederick," Ada says, exchanging a wry look with Chrom as Frederick hurries off. He'd probably be sour if he wasn't delighted to improve her image. Chrom smirks a little.

Chrom pushes his brussel sprouts across his plate. His knee bumps hers under the table. He glances sidelong down the table at his sisters, who are deep in conversation, and then back to Ada.

"You know, in that _sparring session_  earlier today, I was a little off," he says. "But in my defense, I was a little intimidated."

Ada smiles, and though she imagines throttling him on the spot, hearing stupid things is tolerable when the stupid person is enjoyable to be around. Enjoyable to kiss, and touch, and bed. _Featherbed._

"That is so not what a woman wants to hear," Ada replies. She quirks her eyebrows at him. "A strategist woman, that is."

"I still got there," he laughs.

"You're the worst, because I didn't!" Ada says, but she's laughing too. His hand glides across the linen tablecloth, behind wine glasses and plates and cutlery and dishes of butter and cream and cheeses. That hand ghosts over hers, briefly enough to be playful, but just lingering enough to mean _something._

"Well, I need more practice, then," he says. He's turning red, so she takes pity on him and stops grinning. Chrom says, so seriously: "Because I like sparring with you."

These goddamned metaphors.

"So you can, uh... seize the objective next time," he says, and his smile is so pleasant she just wants to kiss him again. "I'm not going to get intimidated again."

"Well, good," she says. "If I'm going to be staying with you and making Ylissetol my home, then I need a good sparring partner."

"I'm already your partner," he says. "Like I said the other week... anything that makes us closer will make us stronger on the battlefield."

Chrom chuckles, and he extends a hand to her formally. She takes it firmly and shakes.

Ada looks forward to getting back to her new bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [Somewhere, Frederick senses that his young charge is having unprotected sex with a random lady they picked up out of a field, and has an aneurysm.]


End file.
